


The Meaning of the Word

by Yidenia



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-04-30 12:23:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14496915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yidenia/pseuds/Yidenia
Summary: Peter and Tony have a falling out, and Peter has some very important realizations.





	The Meaning of the Word

Initially, it was Happy or Pepper, dropping him the random text or email asking him to at least  _talk_ to Stark. Peter would reply to them, thanking them for their concern, but he would be too angry to actually follow through. If Stark cared so much, he would have contacted Peter himself.

But then Stark himself dropped Peter a text, and it did not help matters much.

 _-Hey Peter,-_ it said;  _-when you get a chance, drop by the Tower will ya?_

 _No,_ Peter had thought, somehow more incensed that the man could be so blasé after days of radio silence. Like Peter could just "drop by" the Tower like everything was fine. He started composing responses like  _No way in hell would I ever go back there again_ or  _Yeah, no thanks, you can go to hell,_ or something along those lines, but all of them seemed childish, and in the end Peter sent nothing. Stark probably could see the indications that Peter had been typing, but Peter never was as slick as that man. Could not foresee himself ever becoming so effortlessly charming. Must be a billionaire thing.

He went about his business; classes during the day, crimefighting in the evenings. He played video-games with Ned and helped his aunt with the chores.

He tried to get over it. It was actually harder than he thought it would be. He wanted to forget about Tony Stark, pretend that they had never met, never had anything to do with each other. But the suit reminded him with every flicker of color, and even his web, which was Peter's own invention, was tainted by the fact that the wrist parts were inspired by his time in Stark's lab. He would inevitably be reminded of that night, and the sheer humiliation would turn his mouth sour and make the fine hairs on his skin stand up, as if a warning of shame that was now obsolete.

He had been such a  _fool._

As the days went on, his anger quieted; Peter was never one to hold grudges, and even he was surprised by how long this one sizzled. He realized he was more hurt than anything, and that forced him to reflect on why.

New York had a way of isolating people. There were so many people that no one could afford to care about everyone. There was this expectation that every individual should be self-sufficient. With such an abundance of resources, all anyone had to do was try and they should be able to achieve their goals. It was hard to be willing to rely on others, Peter decided. There were so many strangers, and they all had their own issues, so to depend on anyone was to establish a profound bond. Stark had, to put it simply, broken Peter's trust.

Though not really. It was not even that.

In the end, the multi-billionaire accosted Peter in front of his uncle's grave, at around eleven at night when there were plenty of cars and people outside, but no one around in the cemetery. Peter had brought flowers to put there for no particular reason; this was not an anniversary, or any other important day, except that he felt the urge to visit his uncle and bring something so Uncle Ben was not just surrounded by dirt.

"Isn't this a school night?" Stark remarked with his usual tact.

Despite wanting as much to just ignore the man, Peter found himself replying, "Oh, so now you care about that."

"Hey," Stark began, "I wasn't the one that—oh never mind. Look, we need to talk. I…I screwed up. I'll admit that. But you're alright, and your friends are alright, and I think we need to focus on the fact that ultimately, we're on the same side."

Peter looked up. Stark was wearing his usual suit, looking too high-class to be talking to a teenager clad in a jacket over a hoodie and fading jeans. He wondered what Stark would say if he just went ahead and said  _'Sure, fine. All is forgiven.'_ Would Stark just clap his hands together like everything was okay now? Would he just turn around and walk out of the cemetery like he had resolved a business transaction?

Probably.

His silence dragged on for too long, mostly because Peter did not know what to say. In that time, Stark sighed and pushed his hands into his pockets.

"Look, kid," he stated, and though he was not exactly flippant earlier, he sounded more serious now, "I get that you're angry. I would be too. I totally understand if you can't stand the sight of me right now. Hell, Pepper and Rhodey have both been giving me earfuls, making it clear that I'm not their favorite person either. But I really didn't mean anything by it. I swear."

He did not intend to actually imply anything, Peter understood. He wondered how often Tony Stark thought about the consequences of his actions, and how this reflects back on him. It must be a rich guy thing.

Tony Stark probably looked at everyone the way he looked at Peter.

"Have you met my uncle?" he interjected before Stark could spew out more garbage.

"…Uh…"

"Come over here," Peter urged, his realization granting him a confidence that would definitely disappear the moment he tried to actually impress anyone; no use being shy when there was no hope of a good opinion, anyway, so what was there to lose? "This is my uncle, Benjamin Parker."

Stark was hesitant, a little thrown by this side of Peter. "Um, er, okay, sure, why not." He walked over. "Hello, Benjamin. Or Ben. I think I've really only heard you referred to as Ben. I'm Tony. Nice flowers."

Peter folded his arms, feeling his jacket stretch around his shoulders. "My uncle," he started quietly, and Stark abruptly cut himself off to listen, "was probably the smartest guy I'll ever know."

Stark paused for a moment. "Yeah?"

Peter nodded. "He wasn't very techy, or sciencey, or whatever you call it, but he always made good decisions. He knew how people worked, and honestly that was all he needed. Or anyone."

"Sounds like a swell guy."

"You know I'm an orphan."

In the light of the streetlamps, Peter could see Stark's subtle double-take.

"Yeah, I kinda figured."

"My aunt and uncle never let me say it. I wasn't allowed to use that word."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You don't forget that word though."

"…Yeah, I'd figure that."

"I still remember, when I learned," Peter looked at his uncle's name, barely legible in the darkness, inscribed apathetically on the headstone. "You don't really think about what that word really means until you become that word. Orphan." Even now, the term had a profound quality, hollow on the tongue. "It means no one loves you."

"That's not true—"

"—It means you don't matter to anyone," Peter spoke right over him, "that if anything happened to you, no one would care—"

"Okay, look, is this an issue with your aunt? Because if you need someone to—"

"—and no one would care if you succeeded, no one would care if you failed, if you were hurt, if you were happy—they only care if you are  _useful_. An orphan is always alone. That's just how it is."

"You're being overly-dramatic about this—"

"You were never an orphan. You don't get to tell me if I'm being overly-dramatic," Peter said quietly, and oddly, it was the softness of his voice that finally shut Stark up.

The wind blew, and the grass and trees rustled. Somehow, Peter could convince himself that it was his uncle, sending word of his disapproval. Uncle Ben would be furious, but then, he would also be furious with Stark.

"That feeling never really leaves you," he explained to the man. "You mentioned Aunt May was hot. She is. You know, she and my uncle never had kids of their own. When they took me in, there was a time when I kept waiting, waiting for them to kick me out. We weren't rich like you. I didn't know if they would be able to take care of more than one kid, and there I was…gifted…going the extra mile when the extra mile required extra cash. They never seemed to have wanted any more kids, and I never questioned it until after my uncle died. I realized Aunt May would never have a child of her own. Since Uncle Ben's been gone, she's gotten hit on a lot, you know. Because she's hot. She's all alone, with just me for company, and she'd joke that she's hardly lonely with me around, but she never goes on dates, even for fun. And it's because of me. She didn't want to bring a stranger in who might uproot _me._ And then I realized that maybe they didn't want kids…because of  _me._ You see, being an orphan means screwing up other people's lives, other people's hopes and dreams, inserting yourself where you don't belong and eating food that's not yours, wearing clothes that aren't yours, and praying, every single day, that you'll be able to somehow repay all the kindnesses other people offer, that you can prove that their sacrifices were worthwhile. Because being an orphan means you are extra. Unnecessary. Often, others might even be better off if you were never born. And that feeling is the worst feeling in the world.

"You do everything you can to stop feeling this way. Try to be good enough. To not disappoint. You look for reasons others might want you around. Care about you. Want you to be okay. Even make up things, read into things. Sometimes you really believe it, but whenever you are proven wrong, it's worse than a punch to the gut, a bullet to the brain. And you know, there is nothing like learning you are someone else's toy to hit home just how worthless you really are."

There was a long silence.

"I never thought of you that way," Stark murmured.

"You  _hacked_ my spider-sense," Peter hissed, and all at once rage made his fingers tremble in his fists. He could still remember that sickening feeling of something being wrong, of danger happening in all directions, and his body helplessly responding to the instinct, the reflex kicking off again and again and again, that churning nausea, confusion evolving into panic. Danger was everywhere, here one moment, there the next. "You made me flip around like some kind of video-game character with no mind of my own. No  _choice_. I was _your_ toy _._ "

And Stark had activated Peter's spider-sense before, though not in such a densely-packed episode…and not in public. Peter had thought something was wrong with him, had stressed about how to cope with this when he depended heavily on it during his nightly scouting. It was not until that fight, that evening, that Peter realized the problem was in the  _suit—_ and found the mechanism that activated his sense, before tracing it to the source.

"Look, it was for your sake," Stark raised his hands. "What if something were suppressing your instinct? What if something simply doesn't activate it? Or if something sets it off by mistake? I needed to study how it worked!"

"Like hell you did!" Peter spat, and hated that tears were leaking from his eyes even when he had promised himself over and over that he should not  _care_ to be this affected. "If you had wanted to simply study it, you would have  _told_ me!  _You_ were afraid that I needed to be  _controlled!_ I was getting  _good_ at what I did, and you felt threatened!"

Stark took in a deep breath. "Okay. Okay. I should have let you in on it. You're a smart kid." He paused. "I'm sorry."

It was the first time he actually apologized. Peter raised his hands and wiped at his eyes. Instinctively, he lamented the loss of his dignity, before reminding himself that Stark never took him seriously to begin with.

"Sorry for not caring about me." His voice came out rough, though steady. "Well, there's no helping that, is there? Not like I can demand it. Not like you  _should_ care. It's just that after he died, there was only Aunt May, and she doesn't know that this parasite of a nephew was the reason she's now a childless widow—"

"Uh, I'm pretty sure she's going to object to that description—"

"—And I really wanted something to prove that I deserved to be here, to be doing what I'm doing, to be who I am, so I had. Hoped. You would care about me too."

Another silence fell.

"…I'm not your dad, Peter."

The words, for all that they were true, were incredibly painful to hear. Peter could not even move. They were like lead weights on him, crushing at his heart.

"You don't want me as a dad," Stark went on. "You don't want me as an uncle. You don't even want me as a cool brother. Ask anyone who actually knows me. I'm better at a distance. I'm good for tech and I'm good for cash. Crash by the Tower at any time. Need me to show my face for the paparazzi, I'm your man. I don't do caring about others. It's not just you, Peter. I treat everyone this way."

This time, Peter nodded. "Yeah, I'll get over it. I'm sure you'll get over it too."

"Don't be like that. That's passive-aggressive, and you're too good for that."

"Yeah, that backhanded compliment doesn't sound anywhere near forced."

"I don't give backhanded compliments. I'm too rich and famous for that. I don't have to try to win back favor from teenage boys who are still in school. There are plenty of other teenage boys. And wow, did that come out way creepier than I anticipated."

Peter had to give him credit; despite how upset he was feeling, Stark's wit almost got a laugh out of him.

"Look, I'm not as smart as your Uncle Ben. I once told you not to do anything I would do. I meant it. While we're being honest here, my life has been scramble after scramble of trying to manage my mistakes, which I keep making because frankly, I'm not smart enough to learn from my past. I made all these weapons that end up falling into terrorist hands. I made more weapons that ended up going to more psychopaths. Many problems we are facing now? My fault. I'm supposed to be a genius, and I can make mean armor, but I don't use them wisely, no. You've actually seen the results yourself.

"You had this spider-sense that is completely inexplicable. That's…like…the ultimate temptation. I can't  _not_ investigate. Keeping you in the dark was strictly me trying to see how you worked without ruining it all with the Hawthorne effect. I never think about the consequences of things and I never think about how other people feel. That's just not how I do things. So I didn't think about how this would make you feel. It just never occurred to me that I should. But I promise you, there wasn't a day since that night when I didn't wish that I had."

 _Right,_ Peter thought wryly.  _That is why you didn't bother reaching out to me yourself, until days later, when you thought my anger had cooled, maybe?_

"And in fact," Stark went on, "I don't actually know how to deal with things. I solve a lot of my problems by drinking, which is a pretty bad solution to things because it doesn't actually solve anything—don't be an alcoholic, kid, it's not worth it, trust me. High quality vodka can mess up your life just as much as cheap beer. In any case, the point is, when I realized how upset you were and why…I didn't know what to do."

The idea that Tony Stark had been silent because he was at a loss somehow made everything…make more sense. Stark always affected charisma, the ability to smooth-talk his way out of things by pretending he did not care, but he never talked about things he  _did_ care about, now that Peter thought of it. For all that he could be a chatterbox at the worst of times, much of Stark remained a mystery to those around him. Peter always felt like Stark never let anyone close and was also close to no one. In a strange way, Stark was as socially awkward as Peter.

Maybe even more so.

"I can't love you the way your parents did, or your uncle did," the man remarked when Peter still did not answer. "I can't really love you, period. I'm not a loving kind of guy. But I never once thought of you as an  _orphan_ , Peter. Not if that's what it means. There are times when I see you and I'm just amazed that you exist. I'm  _glad_ that you exist, and that somehow I had the privilege of knowing you and having a place in your life. Sometimes I try to think of what it would be like to have a kid—not a lot, mind you, but when I do, I always imagine my kid to be just like you. I know everyone else would kill to have their own kids end up being just like you. And for the record, if I ever hear you refer to yourself as a 'parasitic nephew' or whatever, I'm going to smack your mouth whether or not we're still on talking terms. Better yet, I'll get May to do it; I'm sure she'll do it better than I ever can."

Against his will, Peter's lips quirked up a little at this.  _Yeah, she'd be flippin' mad._

"And I know you're angry with me and you're totally in your rights to be, but I would really prefer for you to be in my life than not in my life. This is sounding really really weird, by the way. Please just tell me if you forgive me or not because I don't think I can keep this up."

Peter's eyes drifted down. He recalled his childhood years when he use to idolize Iron Man. The moment he met Stark had been a realized dream he never dared to acknowledge. He thought of his own particular failings, the way he, by nature, sought approval from those around him, sought affection, sought  _validation_ , and he thought of Stark's flaws, the way he just…did not care about other people. Or did, but just could not show it well. Despite the man saying the sort of things Peter desperately wanted to hear, he was no longer a little child, gullible and naïve. Stark was old enough to be manipulative, and if anything, over the past few days he proved that he could be quite good at it. Maybe he meant what he said, but more likely he was just saying that to get in Peter's good graces, and in reality there would be more incidents like that night, when Stark exploited Peter according to his own whims.

In the end, Tony Stark was not his dad. Never promised to be. He was just another person to the billionaire, and certainly not special. Peter had been lucky enough to be blessed with two fathers. He had no right to wish for a third, and certainly not in the form of Iron Man. No matter how horrible it was to be with Aunt May and know that he was the cause of all her suffering, there was no one to prove he was better than this. Stark, certainly, was never obligated to absolve him of anything.

Peter will get over it, as he had said. That was what orphans do. They deal, or they die.

"There's nothing to forgive," he stated, turning away. "I have school tomorrow. Good night, Mr. Stark."

"There sure is," the man said behind him, sounding a little wretched, "but that's okay if you don't want to. I have your back either way, kid. You have my number. If you need anything at all, you have it, no matter what's going on between us. Do you hear me?"

Peter did not answer.

When he walked out of the cemetery, he took out his phone, and deleted Stark's number.

**Author's Note:**

> All these fans making the relationship between Tony Stark and Peter Parker this father-son thing! I dig, but I don't think that's how love works. Sorry, guys.


End file.
